THE GRAMMAR COURT.

BY W. T. PETERS.

Clinton was a rosy-cheeked boy, with a pair of dirty hands, and a very stupid head for the nine parts of speech. In fact, as far as his knowledge of grammar went, he was a dunce, and that's a very unpleasant thing to be, especially when one gets a daily thrashing, you know. Well, Clinton was a dunce, and his teacher knew it, and all the school knew it, and he knew it, and he felt very sulky about it on this particular day when I write of him; for he has come out of school with a red, swollen hand, and a pair of red, swollen eyes, though he wouldn't cry about a thrashing, not he—oh no, he is too brave for that.

Now Clinton lived in a nice little house near a nice little village, in which stood the school-house, and when he went home every day he had to go through an open field, and then through a piece of woods. It was about four o'clock on a summer afternoon—he had been kept in again—and the heat had not yet faded away. The sun looked hot and stary through the mist in Clinton's eyes, but its saucy, knowing look put him out, for it seemed to have too much information for a well-balanced sun.

Presently he came to a fresh bit of grass, by such a lordly old tree; so he threw himself down, all breathless and rosier than ever, and folding his inky fingers under his head, he fell to watching a domestic robin up in the tree, and thinking about the detested lessons at the same time.

"Now," said he—for he had a great habit of talking to himself aloud—"what good can there be in a fellow's learning that horrible stuff? I'll never have the faintest idea of what it all means, I'm sure, any more than that round robin up above me."

Whereupon the round robin looked very wise, as if it knew what it knew; but Clinton didn't mind it, but went on talking to himself.

"I was always rather shaky on the subject of fairies, but I'm blest if I wouldn't like to get a glimpse of one this moment, for I don't believe anybody else could help me."

And just then the robin looked down from his nest, and called out, "You're right there."

Clinton glanced up, and to his surprise saw that the lordly old tree had grown into a ragged pair of stairs, and the round robin nodded to him as if it said as plainly as possible, "Come up." So he began climbing up; but as fast as he climbed, it hopped on above him, and the stairs began to grow and grow. But he kept bravely on, for he knew the stairs would stop some time, and he was sure the round robin would, though he was somewhat astonished when he found the stairs making directly for the sun, and he was still more so when, as he came near the brilliant orb of day, he saw its mouth open like a great portcullis, and on its huge upper lip was written in long black letters,

THE GRAMMAR COURT.

And here the stairs stopped, and he saw the round robin go in with a crowd of gay and festive people; so, when he came up to the top of the stairs, he went in too. And he found himself in a lofty chamber of clouds, and away up at one end under a great rainbow sat a haughty-looking King, and the gay and festive people ranged themselves on either side of him. By-and-by the King called out in a loud voice:

"Where is little Article, our page?"

Immediately a small boy, in a pair of mighty slippers, who looked like a very little article indeed, stood trembling before the King.

"Come," roared the King, "don't stand loafing about, but run as fast as you can to the royal presence of Queen Noun, and tell her we request her attendance." Whereat the little Article, trembling a great deal, skipped backward to the door, and then ran off as fast as he could. "For how," said the King, trying to get off a poor joke, as kings are apt to—"how could King Verb be merry if the object of his thoughts and the subject of his affections be absent from the throne?"

And this seemed to tickle all the gay and festive people immensely, for they giggled a great deal, and were much annoyed because Clinton did not giggle too, though he could not for the world tell what they were having such fun about. One of them even would have spoken to him, had not his Majesty just then called out lustily to the man at the door, "Admit them instantly, Sir Preposition." And obediently Sir Preposition drew back the curtain, and led forward a lady enveloped in a long thick veil. The King hopped down from his throne, he was in such a hurry, exclaiming, as he went, in a very hoarse voice, "Allow thy lord to rend the midnight cloud, and behold the moon in all her glory." At the same time he lifted up the cloud, as he called it, and disclosed, not the slightest hint of a beauty, but the withered face of a hideous old woman.

Then the King, I am ashamed to say, turned round and shook his fist in the timid little Article's face. "How dare you, minion," shrieked he, "point out this ugly old Aunt Pronoun, placing her instead of the fairest princess living—Soldiers! soldiers!"—here he turned almost blue in the face, and pointed to the puny little Article as if he were a very lion—"soldiers, seize the traitor!" he hissed.

The soldiers were about to obey him, when a piercing scream rung out through the apartment. Everybody looked round to see what had happened; and sure enough, almost next to where Clinton stood, a very spare court lady had fallen into hysterics. "Oh! alas!" cried she, gasping all the while like any fish; "ah me! alack! fiddle-dee-dee! How—can—he—be—so—cruel!" Here she flung herself into somebody's arms, and was dragged from the room.

"Ho! ho!" said the King; "who's that?"

"Lady Interjection," squeaked the little Article, nervously touching his hat.

"Lady Interjection, is it? Well, she'd better stop this kind of business, as it is growing rather dreary. However, that won't hinder our making short work of Aunt Pronoun. Soldiers!"

Again the soldiers marched up in a most decorous way, when a handsome young courtier rushed forward, and threw himself at the feet of the King. "My dear brother-in-law—I mean your Majesty," he exclaimed—"can't you make up your royal mind to spare this dear old party, remembering her infirmities? Oh, do make up your mind to do so, and to spare also my sister, Queen Noun! Call to mind her many pleasing qualities. She is beautiful, charming, graceful, witty, loving, gentle—"

"Stop! stop! Adjective," shouted the King; "you'll drive me mad. Get up and listen to my Lord Adverb, and don't kneel there chattering like a magpie."

Immediately an aged and venerable man approached King Verb. As Adjective departed, he heard him whisper in the Prime Minister's ear, "Do your best to modify him."

The old man nodded sagaciously, and then addressed his sovereign in a low, clear voice: "Your grace will pardon the rashness of an aged man if I say you have acted somewhat hastily. The advice I give you is to think slowly, coolly, deliberately, and wisely, and then act—kindly."

"Excellent!" said the testy monarch, for he had cooled down a great deal. "Let us hear what Aunt Pronoun can say for herself."

The old lady seemed very cross at the way she had been abused. She drew herself up, and made the King wince, she looked at him so hard. "I have nothing, sire, to say for myself," she said, "save that the Queen, on receiving your message, bid me come to you with the news that you have a young prince born to you."

How the people did shout for joy at this announcement, and how the King did smile, you can not imagine. At any rate Clinton couldn't.

"We thank you for this glorious news, Madam Pronoun," said King Verb, "and we beg you to pardon our sudden displeasure. In recompense, we will have to make you the Prince's godmother. Come, what shall his name be?"

Ladies of Pronoun's age are not so easy to make up with; so she looked very injured at first, but by-and-by began smiling. "King Verb," said she, "I was much grieved at your anger, for it was entirely unmerited; but I rejoice at your kindness, and in token of your having taken the Queen and myself again into court favor and your friendship, I will name the young Prince—Conjunction."

"Hurrah!" cried Clinton, he was so mightily pleased; "I see it all now."

"I am glad you do," said his teacher's voice, close beside him; "but you'd better get up now, else you'll take cold. It's pretty near sunset, and you've been sleeping on this grass nearly two hours."

Clinton sat up, rubbed his eyes, and looked about him. There he was in the woods, as natural as life. Could it have been a dream? Ha! what was that? He happens to spy the round robin looking over his nest, and—yes—winking at him. He got up and meekly followed his teacher, never speaking a word. But from that day to this he firmly believes that what he saw was true, and from that day to this I don't believe he ever missed a grammar lesson.